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Haiti is a large independent country which shares an island (Hispaniola) with the Dominican Republic in the western Caribbean. It can be accessed from the States, French Caribbean and other islands near to it. Population largely of African descent, delightful and generally friendly, languages Kweyol (the local creole), French and some English in tourist areas only, very strong cultural integrity and historical interest. Currently extremely poor, mostly agricultural, some small industry and very little tourism, generally difficult but rewarding travel. Some nice beaches with just a few hotels, some good restaurants (mainly Pétionville above the capital Port au Prince), some activities, but strong cultural interests such as voodoo, music and faded grandeur in the history.
Haiti does not have significant tourism at the moment. This is not to say that it does not have enormous interest, but it is generally not suitable for anyone but a fairly adventurous traveller. Travelling in the country is hard work. There are few hotels outside the main centres, the roads are not good, the buses are crowded and you can expect to be hassled quite a bit. If you are happy to cope with this and are up for a bit of cultural and historical exploration then it is one of the most stimulating countries to visit in the world.
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Below you will find an article about a voodoo pilgrimage to the Saut d’Eau, a village in central Haiti.
On a Haitian tap-tap, one of those buses dressed as brightly as circus caravans, I saw the word SODO written in kreyol. It was a destination of sorts--hidden in the Haitian kreyol script is the French name Saut d'eau, a town in the central mountains which is the site of one of Haiti's most important pilgrimages. Most Haitian taptaps have a name on the front. As I walked past it in the traffic of Port au Prince I saw that this one was called: Ste Vierge de Mt Carmel.
The Saint's day of Our Lady of Mt Carmel is 16th July and each year it sees a huge gathering of the faithful at the normally slumberstruck village of Saut d'eau. The Virgin appeared in a palm tree near a waterfall (the meaning of the French 'saut d'eau') about a century and a half ago.
They go for the same reasons as in any Catholic pilgrimage: to honour the Virgin. Some are on a vow, some come to make a request; some are there out of guilt, others because it is fahionable. In the way of the West Indies, they go also for the fete, the party. Their faith is not in doubt, but in Haiti the spiritual rhythms beat rather differently from elsewhere in the Catholic world. Saut d'eau is also a voodoo pilgrimage and the waterfall the central feature.
Voodoo is pretty widely misunderstood outside Haiti. In fact it is a system of beliefs like any other religion. The Grand Maitre is the supreme divinity, as the European God, but there is also a spirit world inhabited by voodoo gods or 'lwas', who impinge much more closely on human existence. They can be vengeful and benevolent; they must be worshipped appropriately, and appeased when angry.
The lwas have an earthier quality than the European God and have noticeably more human characteristics. There are even jealousies between them. But they reward their followers by intervening in their lives. In the drum-driven voodoo ceremonies they come to possess them, 'mounting' them like the rider of a horse, taking over their body.
The mix of the two religions arose when newly arrived slaves were permitted to worship in Church. Ostensibly they prayed to the Catholic divinity, but behind the facade they continued to worship their West African Gods, equating them with the Catholic Saints. St Patrick, so often depicted with snakes, has become associated with Damballah, the spirit of wisdom and fertility (his symbol is a snake); St James with Ogoun, the spirit of war. The Virgin Mary's equivalent is Erzulie, the spirit of love. To most Haitians there is no conflict in being both a Catholic and a vodunist.
Arriving in Saut d'eau I found customary Haitian chaos, streets gorged with people all trying to get somewhere, trying it on. Stalls were offering food and drinks, the candles and portraits of the pilgrimage, and a little gambling. It is a very relaxed affair--people barely noticed a white man walking around watching--and there is a surprising mix of Haitian society, bon bourgeois from Port au Prince, and peasants from all over the island. Some had walked for days to get here.
I joined the constant stream of people headed to the waterfall. We climbed a steep slope, and were caught momentarily in the crowd of a ra-ra band (shuffle-stepping to hand-held drums, a cheese-grater, trombone and the long low hum of a plastic drainpipe). The well-to-do rode hardy little Haitian ponies, the rich rode by unwatching, air-conditioned in their four-by-fours.
There are the familiar elements of any Catholic pilgrimage. People carried pictures of the virgin, they placed dedicatory candles, whispering prayers, and they wore special colours, as clothes or in small woven cords; many wore blue and white, the colours of the Virgin. But of course there was a parallel, different significance: the candles were placed at particular trees: at a kapok to honour damballah; and some wore cords of different colours, denoting different lwas. They had their own reasons for honouring others lwas, but many go there to entreat Erzulie for a change in their love-lives.
The waterfall itself is magnificent. Three cascades drop a hundred foot into a dark and fertile cleft, cool because some water is whipped off into a breezy mist. The rest spatters violently onto the pilgrims on the rocks beneath. Perhaps three or four hundred people stand about. Lke any pimgrimage, the central part of the ritual is a physical cleansing in the sacred water. Most people have stripped off to their underpants and were washing themselves. They clamber over the rocks shampoo in hand, letting the sacred water wash over them; one man even set off into the fray clutching a toothbrush, paste ready prepared. Curiously, the rocky streambed was everywhere soft underfoot with material. After washing they step out of their underwear and let it wash off on the stream. In a country where absolutely everything is recycled, these are never used again.
Suddenly commotion: a woman was falling into a trance. She shook horribly at first, and the people around her supported her so that she would not drown. She recovered and began to hold court with them, coy and playful. The woman next to me said: 'Ah, c'est Erzulie'. As the lwas each have particular behaviour patterns, people are able to recognise which spirit has appeared. Erzulie is coquettish and flirtatious. It was auspicious that she should have come. And then there was a young man in a more sinister-seeming trance. Eyes rolled back, he was standing, moving sinuously, holding another man's hand, but defiant and vaguely threatening. "Oh Damballah", said the woman, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. The snake-god lives in springs. His appearance was auspicious too, for the fertility (as well as for love, they come to ask for children).
As night drew in we returned to the village and a storm hit: rolls of thunder, lightning like a repeating camera flash and a deluge of rain that churned the streets to mud. It might have seemed sinister, as drums struck up all around the town, but the pilgrims were intent on the fete. There were public dances, a mesmeric double beat of compas and impromptu parties that crystallized in the street, mellow music with guitar, maracas and a small drum. A leading voodoo band, Azor, was playing to the crowd: singers in red and gold sweated and flailed, wailing responses to the calls of the lead singers and the voodoo drums. The energy is compulsive: the way the drums rumble and the singing rises through the keys, it is easy to imagine possession.
The night, the time of voodoo, was full of odd sights--ghostly, white-painted faces; people shuffling, uttering incantations; transvestites playing to the crowd. Everyone comes to Saut d'eau. I was slightly alarmed by a streetside cross dripping with candlewax, but then totally absorbed by the market on the square, right beneath the Catholic church. The candle-lit stalls were laden with portraits of the Virgin, ribbons, candles and bundles of dedicatory leaves. Between them there was barely room to move for all the people praying, holding crossed candles high towards the church--vodunists must get God's permission to invoke the lwas--faces etched with ecstatic concentration.
Next morning, its whitewash glaring in the sun, the church commanded a quite different aspect. Inside, the main hall and galleries were bedecked in blue and white bunting, and heaving with the congregation. Mass was being celebrated to honour the Virgin of Mt Carmel. But once again there was more than you would expect of a normal Catholic ceremony. Dedications were passed overhand from the rear of the church and laid at the altar, people held photographs of families they wanted to be blessed, one woman sat in silence, her eyes on some invisible horizon and her passport in her hands. The most important thing in the world was a visa for the USA.
Leading the service, the local Catholic Bishop was quite clear about the mix of voodoo and Christianity and broached it head on in his sermon. He denounced this meli-melo. They were there to honour the Virgin Mary. Anything else was impossible. Erzulie didn't have a look in.
It was obvious that some of the congregation had other ideas. There was a constant murmur, seemingly rising in proportion to his objections. People put out their candles when asked, but others crept in and lit more. In the past there have often been possessions in the church and the vodunists have actually come inside with their drums and played. Fights have broken out in the church.
Service over, the statue of the Virgin was loaded onto a tap-tap and she was paraded through the town. The crowd surged around her. After the bishop's stony countenance, here was a sea of ecstatic faces. All eyes were fixed on the statue. Our Lady of Mt Carmel. Or Erzulie the Goddess of love? |
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